


the simple hearth of a small farm (the center of our universe)

by Mayhem10



Series: The Traveler's Corner [4]
Category: Batman - All Media Types, Superman - All Media Types
Genre: Gen, Light Angst, Slice of Life
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-01-13
Updated: 2019-01-13
Packaged: 2019-10-09 06:53:54
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,974
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/17402114
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Mayhem10/pseuds/Mayhem10
Summary: The farm looks the same as when he visited two months ago. He can see a couple of the hired hands working out in the corn fields, prepping for the harvest, checking the silk. It brings back memories of high school. Dad always insisted on doing the biggest portion of the work to get things ready even though Ma pointed out he could split the time in half if he’d just let Mrs. Johnson next door help, after all she rented a quarter of the land for her own soybeans.Dad said he just felt better if he knew what was what. Ma said he had control issues.





	the simple hearth of a small farm (the center of our universe)

**Author's Note:**

> This is a side adventure for my story [ salespeople know (listening is the most important part)](https://archiveofourown.org/works/16014068/chapters/37369736) because Clark Kent would definitely come across Traveler's Corner at some point, but it would be about _Clark Kent_ , not Superman. I've always loved how Clark embodies humanity and in that, I wanted to explore a scenario that so many people go through and one that would really hit home for him. 
> 
> So I hope you enjoy this little window into the Traveler's Corner time in Smallville, Kansas!

The farm looks the same as when he visited two months ago. He can see a couple of the hired hands working out in the corn fields, prepping for the harvest, checking the silk. It brings back memories of high school. Dad always insisted on doing the biggest portion of the work to get things ready even though Ma pointed out he could split the time in half if he’d just let Mrs. Johnson next door help, after all she rented a quarter of the land for her own soybeans. Dad said he just felt better if he knew what was what. Ma said he had control issues.

“Hiya, Clark, long time no see.” 

Clark turns around and smiles tiredly. “Hi, Mr. McFarley. How’re you doing?”

“Fine, just fine,” Mr. McFarley answers around the piece of grass hanging from the corner of his mouth. A quick glance shows his blue, beaten up pickup peaking around the corner of the house, parked just behind Clark’s own SUV. His white bushy brows draw together. “How’s your mother?”

Clark feels his smile grow tight. “Better. Not pleased about missing harvest, let me tell you. She’s gonna drive the nurses ‘round the bend if she keeps it up.”

Mr. McFarley chuckles, hooking his fingers into his jeans pockets. “That sounds like Martha. Well, you let her know that Pat was asking after her. If we had a hospital worth a damn nearby she’d have visitors at all hours.”

“Thank you,” Clark says, trying to convey his sincerity as best he can. “She’ll be thankful to know you and Pat are thinking of her.”

Mr. McFarley nods. “I won’t keep you. Just saw your car and thought I’d drop by. How long are you gonna be in town for?”

Clark shrugs. “Not sure yet. Guess as long as it takes to get things situated here.”

Mr. McFarley gives him a long, unreadable look before giving him a slow nod. “Alright then. I expect you to come over for dinner at some point though,” he says, pointing a finger emphatically, “cause you know what Pat’ll do if you sneak out of town without a homemade meal.”

Clark surprises himself by chuckling. “Yeah, I know, I’ll give you a call when I find a free night, how about that?”

“Acceptable,” Mr. McFarley says a bit grudgingly. “You got our number?”

Clark nods. “Been on the fridge since I was in middle school, Mr. McFarley, I’m pretty sure I have it memorized at this point.”

At that, Mr. McFarley cracks a smile. “Good, good, I’ll see you around then.”

Clark raises an eyebrow and gives a cheeky salute, drawing a huff from the older man, who rolls his eyes as he walks back and gets in his truck. Clark winces as the engine turns over a couple times before bravely starting with a hoarse coughing noise. 

“You need to get that engine checked out!” he calls.

“I know your daddy taught you to fix a truck, son, you just take a look when you come over!” Mr. McFarley yells back before waving as he pulls around and starts heading up the road.

Clark watches him go, absently rubbing his chest. He looks out again, taking in the glow as the sun beats down on the fields, and goes inside.

 

~~

 

Clark is sitting at the Talon, about to take his first sip of coffee when his phone dings, the sound startlingly loud in the almost empty shop. He pulls it out of his pocket.

**Pulitzer Please** _(11:47) How’s it going in Smallville, Smallville? Tipped any cows yet?_

Clark grins, typing out his response.

_(11:49) I’ve never actually tipped a cow you know that right_

**Pulitzer Please** _(11:50) WHAT??? You’ve crushed all my dreams I hope you realize this_

_(11:50) I’m sure you’ll recover_

**Pulitzer Please** _(11:53) Maybe but I’ll never be able to imagine baby Clark Kent trying to scare a cow so will life even be worth living??_  
 **Pulitzer Please** _(11:54) But seriously how you doing?_

_(11:56) I’m okay. How’s Ma?_

**Pulitzer Please** _(11:59) I’m convinced she’s going to develop superpowers and just float out of the hospital after breaking down the wall_  
 **Pulitzer Please** _(12:00) So you know, pretty much the normal_   
**Pulitzer Please** _(12:00) They’re watching the infection and it seems to be responding to the antibiotics_  
 **Pulitzer Please** _(12:01) Should get an update by late this afternoon_

_(12:03) Sounds good I’ll try to call tonight_

**Pulitzer Please** _(12:04) Kay make sure you don’t work too hard_

_(12:04) When have I ever worked too hard_

**Pulitzer Please** _(12:05) ಠ_ಠ_  
 **Pulitzer Please** _(12:06) Love you <3_

_(12:06) Love you too_

 

Clark rubs his finger over the last text from his wife gently and wishes that she was able to be here with him. At the very least, maybe he’d be able to sleep better with her on the other side of the bed - he misses her snoring.

He sighs and looks down at the paperwork scattered on the table in front of him. Finally, he takes a long draw of his coffee and gets to work.

 

~~

 

It’s a small town - you don’t get christened ‘Smallville’ unless you meet the inbuilt criteria - so Clark is surprised on his third day in town to realize that since he was last here, a new shop has opened up on Main Street. He probably would have noticed it before but he’s only been in town the once to stop by the Talon. Otherwise he’s been holed up on the farm, trying to get things situated. Not to mention one of the tractors yesterday had broken down. He spent the entirety of the afternoon trying to fix the problem and with one of the hands hanging around to assist in case he needed it, he hadn’t been able to use his superspeed or strength to get it done quicker.

So this shop is something new. It’s nice, but - he peeks in through the window - he doubts it’ll last too long, being a knick-knack kind of place. Stores like that never do well in small towns.

When he walks inside, the door dings and he looks up to see a little bell hanging down. It makes him smile. There are a million things he loves about Metropolis, but it’s little things like actual door bells that remind him that he’s still a small town kid at heart. He’s surprised to see a number of shelves crowding the room, tall wooden things with intricate paneling along the sides. It reminds him of the general store over on 2nd Street when he was a kid, before Mr. Louis passed away and it closed. Despite all the clutter, it was more an adventure to find what you needed than a chore.

A young man glances over from where he’s making himself a cup of coffee behind the counter and smiles. “Welcome to Traveler’s Corner, can I help you?”

“I’m good for now, thanks,” Clark says. “I haven’t seen you around before though. You new to town?” There’s something familiar about the man, but he might just have one of those faces. The thing about growing up in a small town is everybody knows everybody, which means there’s no such thing as gossip, just...checking up on each other. Exclusively by word of mouth. Letting other people know your business indiscriminately. Basically, they can’t abide someone staying a stranger.

The man laughs. “I swear, I’ve never been asked that so many times in a week! I didn’t really believe everyone knew each other in small towns until I ended up here.”

Clark grins sheepishly. “Sorry, I bet that’s annoying.”

The man waves him off. “It’s fine, I’m actually kind of enjoying it. It’s like I’m a mini-celebrity or something.”

He might as well be for the number of new faces Smallville has seen in the past couple of years. Clark has seen more empty houses popping up than people who are willing to buy them for a long time now. “I’m Clark,” he says, reaching out a hand. 

“Tim,” the man responds, taking it. When he shakes Clark’s hand his grip is firm and warm, not too tight. Clark’s dad had always said you can tell a lot about a man by his handshake.

“You are new to town though, right?” Clark looks around. “I’ve been gone a couple months but I think I would have noticed a new store opening up on Main Street if it had been here.”

“The newest,” Tim says. “I actually just opened last Friday. Usually I try not to make a big deal of it, but there was this - I don’t know, committee of ladies? They put up banners and all sorts of signs advertising for me and I swear I had more people come by in one afternoon than I had the entire time in the last place I lived.”

Clark nods knowingly. “That was probably Mrs. Davis. She runs the social events for the town and things like that. A new store opening is something that would be right up her wheelhouse and she’d want to make sure you had a good grand opening.” She also did not understand the word ‘no’ and therefore was prone to railroading over any opposition. 

“Wow, that’s…” Tim looks simultaneously touched and confused. “That’s nice of her. I don’t know if it was necessary, but I appreciate it?” His voice goes up at the end like he’s not sure and Clark laughs.

“Yeah, Mrs. Davis has that effect on people.”

Tim shakes his head and quickly says, “No, it’s just that - well, people don’t even notice my shop usually. It’s an… unusual change of pace.”

Smallville used to not notice things. Or maybe it was that people were willfully ignorant because acknowledging the absolutely crazy and terrifying things that happened on a regular basis when he was growing was a surefire way to drive yourself at least a little bit crazy and it was much easier to just pretend you didn’t see that bright light out in the fields or that crazy lightning storm that _only_ occurred by the Luthor factory every other Tuesday. It’s pretty sad when weird things are attributed to aliens, not because you believe it, but because the alternative is actually worse.

Though given Clark’s existence, the alien theory was probably a bit more correct than the residents of Smallville thought.

“Feel free to take a look around,” Tim says, pulling Clark from his thoughts. “I got a lot more items in last week than I was expecting if I’m honest. Luckily, there’s a lot of people here in Smallville that are looking for just the right thing.” There’s obvious pride in his voice as he talks and it makes Clark smile.

“Don’t mind if I do.” There are a lot of fun little doo-dads on the shelves and he heads over to one that holds a couple of vases and cross-stitched items. He starts looking through them, taking his time. 

A throat clears and Clark looks up to see Tim studying him curiously. “If you don’t mind me asking, are you looking for a gift for someone? Only you’re looking at things that a younger guy wouldn’t usually want for himself.”

“What,” Clark answers with mock offense, “I don’t seem like the type to want - ” He looks down at the cross-stitched item that’s somehow migrated into his hand, “ - an apron that says ‘Chop It Like It’s Hot’ in _incredibly_ fancy cross-stitched calligraphy?”

“...Are you?” Tim dubious expression makes Clark chuckle.

“No. My wife doesn’t let me in the kitchen except to make pasta which is a problem since she can’t cook to save her life either. We end up ordering a lot of takeout, but it works out since we both keep crazy hours for work.” Clark’s always found it impressive that Lois manages to keep a more unpredictable schedule than him. You’d think being Superman and flying off at the drop of a hat would take the cake, but nope, he never knows when she’s going to get a text from some random contact and run off with a kiss on the cheek to chase a story. 

He looks around and honestly, there are so many things and, “Yeah, I could probably use some help. There’s just a lot here to look at.”

“Hey, not a problem.” Tim comes around, carrying two cups of coffee, one of which he offers to Clark. “You look like you could use a pick-me-up.”

Clark takes the cup with a nod of thanks. “Yeah, I’ve been a bit busy lately.” Plus there’d been an earthquake in Japan yesterday evening and he’d gone to assist with the rescue efforts for a couple hours. 

Tim nods understandingly. “Does it have anything to do with the person you want to buy something for?”

A fleck of dust floats through the air in front of him. Clark watches it absently. 

“...We don’t have to talk about it if you don’t want,” Tim says quietly. 

There’s a genuineness to him, like he’s not curious, doesn’t want to push, and that’s what makes Clark answer, “It’s fine.” He looks up at the ceiling, and for someone who makes his living in the craft of words, he finds it very difficult to know how to start. So he just begins at the heart of it.

“My ma is in the hospital right now in Metropolis - that’s where my wife and I live,” he explains. “Her health hasn’t been great over the past few years, but she could still get around, you know, and she absolutely _insisted_ that she could take care of herself.” She didn’t want to leave the farm he knew, didn’t want to give up that last piece of Dad even though so many years had passed since he died. It was home. It was family. “The thing is, she was having these little - episodes. That’s what she told us. They never lasted long and I guess we just thought…” 

He should have known better. Should have paid more attention. Seeing it once should have been enough.

“Turns out she had a blockage in her brain and the episodes were actually mini-strokes. She had an episode when a friend of hers that was a former nurse was over and she recognized it, forced my ma into her car and drove to the nearest hospital. When the tests came back, the doctors said that probably saved her life. She got transferred to Metropolis to have surgery - she was right on the edge of full blockage.” A full stroke. And if she had been alone when it finally happened, the doctors said, then she would have almost certainly died.

No matter what Lois or his ma tell him, Clark can’t help the guilt that’s been festering inside him since he heard the news and rushed to the hospital, hating every second he spent in the car because Clark Kent doesn’t move faster than a speeding bullet and has to fight through traffic like everybody else in the world. He might not be a doctor, but he should have checked her over, shouldn’t have assumed that whatever the problem was it would resolve on its own. What’s the point of X-ray vision if you don’t use it when you should?

When he lets himself look at Tim, there’s something in the young man’s eyes, a familiar sort of sadness that Clark’s been seeing in the mirror for the past two months (honestly, for much longer than that), and the tension that had crept slowly into his body begins to relax. 

“How is she doing?” Tim asks, and Clark sighs.

“She’s...okay. Not happy about still being in the hospital. Plus, she ended up with an infection from the surgery and at her age it can be really dangerous so it looks like she’s going to be there for a while longer.” 

“So I’m guessing you came home to help out here?”

Clark hesitates. “...In a way.” He hates the words even as they come out, but, “we’re looking into selling the house and land. Ma’s health is really fragile now and the doctor said that it’s not safe for her to live on her own anymore. I know she hates it, but…” He shrugs helplessly. “We don’t really have a choice.”

Tim frowns sympathetically. “I’m sorry, that’s awful.”

“It’s not fun, no.” He shakes his head and straightens. “But Ma’s gonna be in the hospital for a while so I wanted to bring her something that’ll brighten her spirits a bit. She’s tough as nails, but I can tell it’s starting to wear on her, being stuck in a hospital bed all the time.”

Tim takes the hint and gestures to the right. “Why don’t you look over here? There’s a few things that you or your mom might like.” He jerks his thumb over his shoulder. “I don’t want to get in your way so I’ll be just behind the counter if you need anything, okay?”

“Thanks.” Clark trusts that Tim understands the thanks is not only for pointing him toward a gift for his Ma, but also listening to his worries without prying. He feels lighter now somehow, like when he floats just above the clouds and can’t see anything below. Maybe there’s something to all that therapy stuff Lois keeps trying to get him to do with J’onn. 

He’s reaching up to grab what looks like a music box when he feels his foot knock against something on the ground. Tim seems to run a fairly organized ship, so someone else probably knocked it down when they were in here. Hopefully, it isn’t breakable, he thinks as he crouches down to pull it out from where it’s hiding under the shelf. 

A little blue toy truck.

A rush of memory sweeps over him as he grabs it, accompanied by a headrush as he stands a little bit too fast. He’s never had a headrush before. It goes away slower than he imagined they would when Lois complained about them.

The toy truck isn’t the kind that he saw in Toys R’ Us during a human interest piece on donations to pediatric wards in hospitals, all bright yellow plastic and black rubber wheels. No, this truck is grey metal covered in chipped blue paint, worn and well-loved. A deep scratch runs across the hood, jumping down into a solid dent in the bed of the truck from where a young Clark had accidently used his super strength while trying to write his name on the truck with a pen he’d stolen from his ma’s desk. The pads of his fingers catch on half-forgotten memories sunken into the nicks and dents, mornings laughing as his dad chased him around the barn, Sunday afternoons standing on a stool in the kitchen, stirring hard-to-mix chocolate chips into the cookie dough with his ma carefully watching. 

“It’s mine,” he breathes, turning it over again. “How did it end up here?” From what he remembered, he’d brought it into town while his parents ran errands and in all the shuffle of picking up things and dropping them off his truck had been misplaced. When he realized it, he cried something awful, begging for his parents to find it. They were never able to though; he’d been devastated.

Tim is shuffling through a stack of photos when Clark approaches the counter and he looks up with a kind smile. “Find anything?”

“Yeah...I did.” The journalist in him has to ask, “Where did you say you get your inventory?”

Tim squares the pictures and sets them aside. “We get things from all over, a lot of things local. Most of the things that showed up last week were local actually, more than usual. Why?”

Clark gently puts the little truck on the counter. “Because I’m pretty sure this was mine when I was a kid.”

Tim’s smile widens. “Really? That’s wonderful!”

For some reason, that wasn’t the reaction Clark was expecting, though he can’t quite say why. He doesn’t know what he expected. “I guess so.”

“I’m so happy it found its way back to you.” The sincerity is almost palpable and Clark feels a little guilty for being suspicious.

“...Me too.” Stop looking a gift horse in the mouth, he scolds himself. But still, “I don’t know if my ma would want this though,” he notes dryly as he pushes the truck forward. 

As Tim rings it up, he tilts his head. “You sure? Could be something nice from home.” The register dings. “That’ll be $6.77.”

“Pretty sure.” Still, there’s a warm feeling in the center of his chest as he takes the truck back after handing Tim the cash, savoring the light weight in his hands. “I might just sneak her in some pie, she’d probably enjoy that more anyway.”

“Food is always good,” Tim agrees, “especially pie.”

 

~~

 

(On his second to last day in Smallville, Clark sees the toy truck sitting on the kitchen counter by the refrigerator and remembers the list of phone numbers that used to be stuck to the door by bright yellow magnets, so he picks up his phone and gives Mr. McFarley a call.

That evening Clark dives into the rickety old truck Mr. McFarley insists on driving and manages to get it sounding like a one hacking cat instead of a whole pride, shooting the breeze with the older man who watches the process with a suspicious eye. He sits down with Mr. McFarley and Pat, his daughter, and has a delicious dinner with a portion size that would be horrifying if most everyone in Smallville didn’t already know that he’s basically a garbage disposal for food. The homemade peach pie is perfect. Clark gets the recipe and knows he’ll never make it right.

“I heard a rumor around town that you’re thinking of selling the old farm, Clark,” Mr. McFarley says gruffly after the last bit of pie has been scrapped off his plate. “That true?”

“Unfortunately,” Clark admits. “With Ma’s health as it is she can’t live alone anymore so we’ll probably have to move her up to Metropolis so that she can have the care she needs.”

“Your mother’s an independent woman, Clark, she’s not gonna like that one bit,” Mr. McFarley warns. 

“I’m aware.” She had let him know her opinion even with a ventilator in after the last surgery. “I wish we didn’t have to, but unless I can get full time care for her then I don’t really have a choice.”

And Pat, quiet Pat who moved back home last year after her husband was killed in a car accident, says, “Well, why don’t I do it?”

“...What?” 

Pat gives him a look that speaks of her opinion on his intelligence. It clearly isn’t a very high opinion. “I’m a certified caretaker and your mom can’t live on her own anymore. If she’s got a spare bedroom, I could move in and help her out full time.” She shrugs. “It’s about time for me to get out of Pa’s house anyway.”

“Now, you can stay here as long as you need, honey,” Mr. McFarley protests with a wounded expression.

“I know, Pa,” Pat says fondly, “but I can’t keep hiding away at home forever.” Then she turns to Clark with a glint in her eye. “What’d you think, Clark, your momma lookin’ for a roommate?”

(Ma likes this gift an awful lot it turns out. When he brings her home two months later, after rehab and final checkups, he notices that Traveler’s Corner has shut down and Tim has moved on. 

Clark’s not surprised. Stores like that never last long in a small town.))


End file.
